December 24

It wasn't even six o'clock yet, but it seemed much later, somehow. Perhaps it was the darkness of midwinter finally making its presence undeniably known. Perhaps it was the quiet of a castle that normally twittered with activity and was now empty save the few students who had not gone home for the holidays. Perhaps it was Christmas, looming dauntingly, the seconds ticking past at an agonizingly slow pace. Whatever it was, Severus was tired of it, and ready to go to bed, but not yet ready to give up for the evening. He shifted restlessly in his chair.

A book lay open on his lap, but he wasn't reading it, and wasn't even trying to pretend he was anymore. He'd thought that it might distract him, but it hadn't. Nothing would, it seemed. He missed Aislinn so much that it hurt. It physically hurt. Except for a few words in passing, and a meaningful look exchanged during a staff meeting, he'd not spoken to her since their breakfast in the astronomy tower nearly two weeks ago. Odd, how two people could live in such close proximity to one another and still manage to go days without talking. That was the nature of the season, though. December was a month filled with obligations for the staff, and Severus had been excruciatingly busy for the week following their interludes. And Aislinn…

He sighed and moved the book from his lap to the table by his chair and stood, walking over to the sideboard and staring for a moment at the decanters of brandy and wine that gleamed softly in the candlelight. None of it looked particularly appealing. At least, not alone.

Aislinn had been busy too, that last week before the students left for their vacations, and Severus understood that. That weekend, though, he'd been hoping to snag a little of her time, but she'd made her excuses by way of a note that said she had a headache and really only wanted to sleep. He'd thought perhaps a few hours would see her past the headache, but late Sunday evening, she still hadn't emerged from her rooms.

Monday afternoon, he'd gone to check on her, but as he rounded the corner to come to her quarters, he'd stopped dead in his tracks as Jordan Mickery came slipping out of her door, looking furtively one way and then another before sidling down the hallway. Doubts plaguing his mind, Severus had just stood there for a long wile, watching as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher returned with a pair of wine glasses and a bottle of wine. Well, he'd thought bitterly, looks like her headache only prevents her from joining me for a drink. He'd turned on his heel and stalked away, his mood black as ebony.

By Tuesday morning, though, he'd decided that he preferred her company, on any terms, to his self-imposed isolation, and he'd had every intention of trying to entice her to lunch in Hogwarts when the mark on his arm began to burn. The Dark Lord, it seemed, was bored, and Severus and three other Death Eaters had endured better than six hours of the most excruciatingly tense excuse for tea that Severus had ever cared to imagine. They'd left with token orders, and there had been no doubt in the potions master's mind that the Dark Lord had nothing planned for the holiday season. Odd, that, but a relief. After reporting to Dumbledore, though, another two-hour task, Severus had found that any hope of a leisurely afternoon in Hogwarts had dissipated. Hoping to salvage dinner from the fiasco of a day, though, he'd gone to Aislinn's rooms and knocked and waited until Minerva found him and told him that Aislinn had decided to visit friends in Muggle London for a few days. He'd gone to bed early that night, and stayed in bed until mid-morning the following day.

Wednesday was no better, really, and he spent it in the dungeons, resisting Dumbledore's attempts to interest him in a game of chess or a cup of tea. He'd been miserable, and preferred to stay that way. Afternoon had found him in his own rooms, all his grading caught up, the potion he'd promised the Dark Lord brewed and an antidote for it steeping, the light fading too quickly and not soon enough.

Now, on Thursday, time had come to almost a complete halt. He felt raw inside and out, wanting desperately to talk to Aislinn, not sure he wanted to face her, and hating himself for being so attached to her that he would rather look the ignorant fool and pretend he didn't know what was going on between her and Mickery than facing the facts and risk losing her forever. He didn't think he could be just her friend, whatever she might wish. Too much had passed between them now.

With a soft sigh, he settled on the bottle of cognac, and filled a sniffer with it. As he made his way back to his chair, he frowned at the broad-rimmed glass, wondering why he'd chosen cognac when he had no intention of drinking it. Bloody expensive stuff to waste. He sniffed half-heartedly at the contents, but had no interest in it, and with another sigh, he sank lower into his chair, propping his feet on a cushioned stool and staring at the door, silently willing Aislinn to be standing there on the other side of it.

"Forget all the wishes I made on shooting stars," he muttered, rubbing his thumb against the bowl of his glass. "I'll trade them all for just one wish now: I wish she was here."

There was a knock on his door, and for a moment, he stared blankly at the portal, not comprehending. Another knock, and he was aware of it this time, and aware that he'd probably gone to sleep and was dreaming; after all, he didn't believe in wishes. Not really. The third time he heard the knock, though, his curiosity overcame him, and a sense of hope bloomed inside his chest. He lifted his wand and muttered an incantation, opening the door…

Wishes, apparently, did not come true, and Severus cursed and very nearly slammed the door in Remus Lupin's face. "What do you want?" he hissed, instead, dropping his wand in his lap and running his hand through his hair.

Lupin looked a bit startled, and glanced out into the corridor before stepping, almost warily, into the room.

"I'm not going to curse you," Severus muttered, gesturing him inside and closing his eyes. "At least, I won't if you'll tell me what the hell you want and then get out."

Clearing his throat softly, Lupin spoke, almost hesitantly. "I… ah… Dumbledore said you had not brought a new batch of Wolfsbane potion to him, and he suggested I come ask if you had any prepared."

Severus opened one eye and regarded the werewolf critically for a moment. "Is it already that time of month again?" he asked, and Lupin sighed quietly, a look of enduring patience on his face. Severus closed his eye again and picked up his wand, pointing it at the sideboard where he kept his wines. "It's over there," he muttered. "Third shelf."

At the sound of footsteps, Severus opened his eyes again and watched Lupin warily, but there was nothing untoward about his actions. He found the flask of potion and then closed the door again and Severus closed his eyes once more.

"Thank you, Severus," came his polite voice. Always polite. Almost condescendingly so, in fact. Severus made up his mind swiftly.

"There are goblets over there as well, if you want to take it now," he offered, and Lupin's footsteps paused.

There was a silence, and Lupin seemed to be considering Severus' motives, but after a moment the foot steps were heading in the other direction again, and Severus heard the sound of a cupboard door opening once more.

"Second shelf," he called behind him, still not opening his eyes. "On the right." He heard a door close and another open, and then a slight gurgling sound as the goblet was filled.

"Do you want to watch to make sure I drink it?" It was almost a challenge, but there was something more that laced Lupin's voice. Almost as though he were offended. Severus opened his eyes, but continued to stare straight ahead.

"No," he replied. "I trust you know the consequences for not drinking it, and are responsible enough to know that a foul-tasting potion is a far better option." His observation was greeted only with silence, and after a moment, Severus gestured at the other chair with his brandy. He couldn't quite bring himself to verbally ask Lupin to sit, but he did make a fair enough attempt to convey the invitation.

After a moment, Lupin settled into the chair, the goblet of Wolfsbane in his hand. Severus stared at the door, still largely ignoring his uninvited guest and Lupin stared at his potion, seeming to try and work up the courage to drink it. Severus could almost sympathize. He'd never tasted it, but from what went into it, he could imagine that it was barely palatable. Most potions he might tweak, change the ingredients slightly, add other, benign ingredients to cover the more foul tastes… but research of Wolfsbane suggested that tinkering with it could render it ineffective, and he'd little desire to experiment with such an important potion. Sugar made it useless, mint could make it unstable, diluting it seemed to diminish its effectiveness… Momentarily, he found himself wondering if honey would have any effect. As he looked at Lupin, though, Severus put the thought from his mind. Experimentation would come at a high cost if the experiment failed.

"You know," Lupin's voice shattered Severus from his thoughts, and he turned hollow eyes to the other man, "For a while, I had my old friend back," he said softly. "And I found that the years had taught me a great many things. When we were kids… stupid kids… I never dreamed that I wouldn't have those friends around me. James and Peter and Sirius… they were the most important people in the world. And then I lost them, all of them, two to death and one to worse than death… and I didn't think I'd ever forgive them for leaving me here. Why couldn't it have been me in one of their places? What chance did I have for happiness, and their futures were so bright…"

Severus frowned slightly, wishing he'd not invited Lupin to sit. The last thing he wanted was to hear the other man reminiscing fondly about their schooldays. He sipped his brandy and kept quiet, trying not to encourage him.

"And then the truth came out," Lupin whispered, "and I had one of my old friends back, and this time I was determined not to take it for granted. I was going to enjoy every minute I could with him, because I knew now that life was fleeting, and any moment, one or both of us could be gone again. I don't think I really expected it so soon, but it wasn't the utter shock this time. The end result, though, was the same."

Severus sighed softly. "Do you have a point, Lupin?"

A half-smile touched the other man's lips. "I suppose it was my bumbling attempt at an apology, Severus. For everything we did. For every time I turned my back on what James and Sirius were planning, and for every time I let them talk me into helping them. You didn't deserve any of that."

Shaking his head slightly in disbelief, Severus sipped his brandy again. "Don't," he muttered. "What's done is done."

Lupin took a deep breath and finished his potion, squeezing his eyes shut and screwing his face into a wrenching expression of disgust, as though fighting the gag reflex. After a moment, his face smoothed again and he opened his eyes. "I know I can't change what has already happened, Severus," he said softly, "but I can hope you'll put the past behind us."

"What do you want?" Severus asked finally, his features hardening. Lupin looked momentarily taken aback.

"I've lost all my friends again, Severus," he said softly, standing. "And it made me realize that life is too short to have enemies for no good reason. I was hoping you would accept my apology."

Lupin was looking around, and Severus stood as well, reaching to take the goblet from him. "I accept your apology," he said stiffly, turning towards the sink in the kitchenette that he seldom used for anything except washing glasses. "But don't expect friendship, Remus. I'm not the type."

After a moment, Lupin nodded. "Fair enough," he replied softly. "Thank you. Merry Christmas."

"Good night." The door clicked shut as Lupin let himself out, and Severus put the goblet aside to dry, muttering under his breath about people feeling the need to confess. And the implication that he held a grudge for something that happened more than twenty years ago. Preposterous. As he returned to his chair, Severus noticed the remainder of the Wolfsbane potion still in the flask and he sighed. He'd take it to Dumbledore in the morning. No use tempting Lupin to return here if he could help it.

There was a knock on his door again, and Severus pointed his wand at the door and it swung open. "Forget some-" he began, then stopped.

It was not Lupin in the doorway this time. It was Aislinn, and Severus' heart soared. "Aislinn," he breathed, setting his brandy aside and swinging his feet to the floor, forgetting everything except that she was there. And she was smiling. It was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

She stepped into his rooms and placed aside a package that she'd been holding in her hands, then wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close to her. As they embraced, Severus found it hard to believe that he'd ever doubted her, even having seen what he did. There had to be some logical explanation, but he wasn't going to ask her for it. He was going to believe in her, and trust her and…

"I've missed you," she murmured, and he was drawing her to the chair.

"I've missed you, too," he whispered, leaning forward to kiss her. She pulled back, though, and placed a finger over his lips.

"I have something for you," she said softly, and he frowned slightly, reaching behind him to pull the stool forward and settling onto it.

"Whatever it is," he whispered, "I'd rather have you."

She laughed softly, and ducked out of the chair, and retrieved the package she'd brought in with her, and placed it in his hands. It wasn't terribly large, small enough to hold in one hand, in fact. It wasn't precisely heavy, but it was solid-feeling. Wrapped in emerald-green paper and tied with a big silver bow, it looked almost surreal. Particularly in his sitting room, where there was no other indication that Christmas was tomorrow.

"I didn't get you anything," he whispered softly, staring at the box.

Aislinn smiled and placed three fingers under his chin, lifting his face. "That isn't the point," she whispered back. "Now open it."

He hesitated, and felt her eyes on him as he ran a fingertip over the ribbon. Without looking at her, he answered the unspoken question. "I don't remember the last time…" he trailed off, feeling a lump in his throat. He did actually remember the last time someone had given him a Christmas present, but he didn't want to think about that.

Aislinn's moved to the floor, kneeling at his side, her hand on his arm. "Open it," she urged gently, and, finally, he tugged at the ribbon and slid his fingertip under the tape holding down the edge of the package. The paper fell away to reveal a plain cardboard box, which he opened slowly, peering inside. He paused as the light fell on the object within.

"It's a rock," he stated the obvious, quite obviously confused. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand, frowning in concentration. It was an interesting enough rock, to be sure, but it was… a rock. Dark, flecked with something that shimmered, slightly charred looking, as though it had been pulled from a fire. He looked up at her, and she was grinning broadly.

"Not a rock," she replied, leaning over to kiss the end of his nose (which was enough to momentarily startle him out of his confusion over the rock).

"Then what is it?" he asked, and she touched his fingers softly, leaning her head against his.

"It's a shooting star," she whispered softly. His face must have given away his continued confusion, because she explained further. "A meteorite. One that actually hit the earth. So you will always have physical proof of a shooting star."

He laughed suddenly, then clamped his mouth shut, afraid he would offend her, but she was grinning too. "Well," he said, "it still remains to be seen if I can wish on it and the wish comes true."

"And!" she said suddenly, standing. She pulled her wand from her pocket and pointed it at the meteorite, then placed her hand on it and whispered, "Portricus." The next thing Severus knew, he was standing in the middle of Aislinn's bedroom, the meteorite cupped in both their hands.

"You made a portkey of it?" he asked incredulously, turning the meteorite over in his hands.

Aislinn was nodding proudly. "I certainly did. You have to activate it, though, but it will transport you right here in the middle of this room. Took me the better part of two weeks to figure that out. Never was very good at charming things." This last was said nearly absently, and Severus laughed softly, pulling her into his arms.

"You do a fair job of charming me," he whispered against her ear, and she slid her arms around him. He held her close, breathing in her scent, and it took a moment before his mind cleared enough for the full realization to sink in. "You gave me complete access to your rooms," he whispered incredulously. She smiled and rested her cheek against his.

"Do you have objections?" she asked softly.

He shook his head mutely, and she grinned. "Good." He moved to kiss her, and for a moment their lips met, but only for a moment. She pulled away again, leaving a flame of desire burning within him.

"I'm sorry I don't have anything for you…" he whispered, looking at the meteorite again. "I suppose I'm not used-"

She was laying her fingers over his lips again, and he stopped. "I told you," she whispered, "that wasn't why I gave you that."

He smiled slightly and kissed her fingertips. "Will you let me make it up to you?" he asked, glancing meaningfully at the bed. She looked at the bed too, then sighed softly, and he steeled himself for her excuse. Whatever it would be this time. His soaring spirits were dampening again already.

"I can't," she whispered, caressing his face. He took a step away from her, and she reached for his hand, wrapping her fingers around his wrist.

"Why not?" he asked softly, immediately regretting it. She smiled, though.

"I have a yearly appointment on Christmas Eve," she replied quietly.

"What kind of appointment?"

Her hand caressed his face again, and he turned his head to kiss her fingers again. "Making sure children continue to believe in Santa Claus," she replied softly.